


Sakura, Syaoran and the Wedding Garter

by estir



Category: Cardcaptor Sakura
Genre: F/M, Garter Toss, They got married, aged up obv, do it for the discord, they're also TOO CUTE TO EXIST, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estir/pseuds/estir
Summary: “You know, in Italy,” she hears Yamazaki’s voice over her shoulder as she folds her dress to sit, “every wedding has this same custom.”Her eyebrows rise with her hum, but her smile remains as Syaoran moves to kneel at her feet.“Yes, the locals hold the assertion that this ceremony is proof that the two are world-renowned lovers!” he says, one finger extended, his face the perfect mask of sincerity.





	Sakura, Syaoran and the Wedding Garter

**Author's Note:**

> ~Fani D Kinomoto~ - Today at 7:22 PM  
> Omg! The syaosaku muse talked to you
> 
> tsureh | shea ღ - Today at 7:22 PM  
> APPARENTLY

The screams only heighten when Meiling catches her bouquet. The pinks and yellows and greens rival the bright light in her eyes as she presses the flowers against her delighted smile. Sakura smiles back at her, teeth gleaming in the spotlight and lips pulled taught. Her rosy cheeks hurt almost as much as her feet, but she wouldn’t trade this moment for the world-- the way Meiling looks at her with such adoration and unabashed love, the ring of cheers and laughter in her ears, and the warmth of a steady hand at the small of her back. The group of ladies eagerly disperse back into the modest crowd. Meiling is the star of the moment as she exuberantly proclaims her plans to woo herself a suitor lucky enough to have her. More laughter and cheers ring at her proclamations, warm and happy.

Sakura shifts her weight slightly toward the conversation when the hand at her back holds fast around the small waist of her pearl-studded dress. She catches a gasp in her throat, turning at the one sound she would never tire of as long as she lived-- her beloved’s laughter.

“Sakura,” he smirks, “over here.”

A chair from one of the dining tables sits innocently behind them, surrounded by a few of their friends. Their smiles are equally supportive and conniving as they watch her turn. Her own laughter spills into the room as Syaoran pulls her in-step at his side, and before their third step the tent is drowned in encouragements, shouts, and more laughter. The moment is as magical as it is embarrassing, but Sakura walks with her head held high regardless.

“You know, in Italy,” she hears Yamazaki’s voice over her shoulder as she folds her dress to sit, “every wedding has this same custom.” 

Her eyebrows rise with her hum, but her smile remains as Syaoran moves to kneel at her feet.

“Yes, the locals hold the assertion that this ceremony is proof that the two are world-renowned lovers!” he says, one finger extended, his face the perfect mask of sincerity. 

Sakura’s smile falters as her cheeks redden, “World-renowned?! Surely Syaoran-kun and I…”

Her rebuttal falls short when calloused fingers trace over her calves.

“S-Syaoran-kun!”

He laughs again, looking up into her eyes, “Is this still okay?”

The question is almost drowned out in the shouts of encouragement from the crowd. Her manicured hands grip the edges of her chair in anticipation, her glossed lips twitching up in a smirk of their own. Her laughter turns breathy as she forces her shoulders to relax.

“Of course,” she mouths, the promise meant for her beloved alone. His blush lights up her entire world. The world falls to silence as she watches Syaoran lick his lips nervously, his gaze focusing on the hem of her dress.

Her hand threads into his gelled hair seamlessly, drawn to him like a moth to flame. She smiles at him again, caressing the side of his face with practiced ease and familiarity. He returns the smile without a second thought, and the blood rushing to his cheeks fades just a bit.

“I love you,” he whispers, and her heart thunders loudly through every inch of her skin.

Before she can even think to reply, his hands grip the edge of her skirt and lift the white satin quickly over his head and shoulders. She squeaks softly at the sudden chill, at the feeling of his warm cheek against her knee, and grips her seat fiercely. They remain still for the space of a few breaths, hers pounding against her lungs and his ghosting up her inner thighs.

The crowd around them is cheering again, but Sakura can’t hear anything but her own heartbeat. Syaoran rubs soothing circles against her ankle with his thumb, and she times her breaths to their cycles-- smooth and rhythmic, skin on skin, heated reassurance and care. She feels her thoughts calming, her eyelids closing to lose herself in feeling Syaoran at her most intimate self.

It’s okay, she reminds herself with stunning clarity, because this is Syaoran. Because she wants him to do this. Because he is her number one, and because there are no secrets between them. Because he is now her husband, her one and only.

He presses a chaste kiss to her inner thigh, small and doting and filled to the brim with happiness. A giggle escapes her so suddenly that it surprises her, and soon the two of them are surrounded by equally joyful laughter. Syaoran peppers kisses equally fleeting across the expanse of her inner thighs, keeping her giggles and shouts from fading into the crowd. He teases her thoroughly, leaving no inch of soft pale skin unloved, until her giggles and shouts morph into unrestrained laughter.

His knees shift soundlessly to draw him closer, and when his tongue presses hotly against her pubic hair, she shouts. Her hands hold his head in place, fingers gripping at her own dress for but a moment before pushing him away with unrestrained laughter.

“Syaoran-kun!” she shouts against the ruckus of laughter.

His breathy laugh floats across her heated skin when he moves back to the lacey garment at her upper thigh. He takes no time dragging his teeth gently but purposefully against her, making her squirm slightly in her seat. She watches the head of unruly brown hair emerge from underneath her dress, garter firmly secured in his boyish smile. The crowd continues to cheer as the groomsmen gather across the dance floor for the toss, but Syaoran’s mischievous smile doesn’t stray from Sakura’s sight.

“Come here,” she reaches for him as soon as he drops the garter into his hand. Her hands frame his face as she kisses the life out of him, hot and heavy with the promise of their life to come.

Syaoran responds in kind, the taste of her sweat still on his tongue.


End file.
